


Swan Song

by bellatrix_black_Lestrange (bellatrix_black_lestrange)



Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Choking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, Past Character Death, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatrix_black_lestrange/pseuds/bellatrix_black_Lestrange
Summary: Shortly after the death of her son, the Crown Prince Rudolf, Elisabeth is visited by Death in the crypt where his coffin lies.





	Swan Song

**Author's Note:**

> Why is there scarcely any smut for this ship?? Do I have to do everything myself?? (jk) Anyway I'm not sure if I should have made this occur after Elisabeth dies, once Death finally wins her over. Honestly I don't really care.

This was the most beautiful he had ever seen Elisabeth.

Fifty-one years old, dressed in full mourning, a long black dress, tear-stained face shielded by a lace veil. The face he longed to kiss, but never could until her last moments. He had taken her father, her first daughter, and now her only son, but was yet to have her.

His name was Death. Death could be anything to anyone, but to her, Death was of strong and elegant build, with fair hair and a cutting smirk. 

In front of Rudolf’s coffin, Elisabeth was a black swan, the velvet mourning attire her plumage. She was now the Odile to his Rothbart; his own creation. It was almost time for her final song. Death stepped closer and stood beside Sisi, in front of the ebony box where her son lay. She said nothing. He lifted the veil and let it fall it back over itself to expose her face. When the tulle and lace were up and away, Death could see a flushed red come to her cheeks. Pale as she was, Elisabeth could not easily hide such a rush of feeling. It showed in her face whether she wanted it to or not.

Death ran a cold fingertip across the slight depression underneath her cheekbone. That had not been there before. She was hollow and wasted by sadness. But to be beautiful was to be almost dead. And that she was.

“How I have missed you.” Death smiled.

There was an icy look on Elisabeth’s face, a look adopted by one who was devoted to misery. Death looked past it, and lifted the comb that held her veil out of her hair. He undid her braid with the mastery of a court hairdresser. Though as thick, long, and lustrous as it had ever been, her hair was now streaked with silver threads that she no longer cared to remove or disguise. Perhaps it matched her despair, or perhaps she stopped detesting the slightest change to her youth and beauty. Death thought it suited her.

“I know you have always been here.” Sisi said, with a hand on her son’s casket. Death leaned in and hovered his lips an inch from hers.

“I could end it all. One kiss on the lips and you’re gone.”

There was no response. Perhaps Elisabeth feared the exact thing she so wanted. 

“Very well.” He continued “If I haven’t permission to kiss your lips, I will have to settle for somewhere else.”

Death reached for the satin-covered buttons at her neck. Sisi lifted her arms as if to stop him, but then lowered them again. Her arms hovered at her sides, unsure of what to do. Was he real? If she touched the leather of his coat, would he all of a sudden disappear? 

His fingertip was at her neck. He dragged it down and settled in the dip of her clavicle and left a soft, almost chaste kiss there. Elisabeth could not speak. She felt closer to Death than she had to any other person. He understood in a way that her husband the emperor did not and could not. Franz hadn’t the devotion, the love for their son that she did. No one could, except Death. With trembling hands, Sisi undid the rest of her dress’s buttons. Death’s face was rested on her chest like he were her own child. She instinctively brought her hands to the back of his head, and then felt his teeth at her skin. He sucked at her skin like he was draining the life from it, while she buried her fingers in his hair. The more it hurt, the more she pressed his face into her neck and breasts.

Elisabeth pushed him away to finish removing her dress. In her usual fashion, petticoats were sewn into the dress itself, reducing the amount of layers she wore, streamlining the silhouette so she appeared impossibly slender, and incidentally allowing for ease of removal. Her fine silk velvet had fallen to the floor, leaving Elisabeth standing in the crypt wearing nothing but a leather corset. She shuddered as rush of cold air entered the room as if someone had opened the door. The door was, in fact, closed, and no one would enter for the whole night.

Death guided his maiden to the edge of the casket. She flinched when she came in contact, but eased into his touch when he wrapped his arm around her lower back. Sisi slid a hand down his lapel, a modest and respectful gesture compared to how he had treated her. This was not a woman accustomed to physical intimacy. In fact, she eschewed it every chance she had—except when he was there. After the birth of her youngest daughter, the empress maintained she would never be so touched again, unless by Death itself.

She was pressed hard against the front of Death’s body. His thigh was between hers. She had been out riding on horseback less and less as of late, but her thighs instinctively gripped around him, and she knew what she must do.

A hand slid down the front of her corset. He pressed firmly through the leather, so she could feel him and be sure he was there. Death ran over the silk of her bloomers, and found them wet. Like the redness in her cheeks, the wet warmth between her thighs cold tell no lies. He began to finger her gently through her clothes at first. His free hand cupped around the back of her thigh, and guided her hips to his touch. She let out a gasp, and then followed him enthusiastically. Elisabeth’s arm fell to the lacquered wood of the casket and she let it remain there. After riding his hand for a bit, Death started at the laces of her corset, and undid them like someone who knew just how it was done. 

He pulled it away, and the leather corset fell to the floor with a fleshy, human sound. The empress was now nearly naked. Under her chemise, Elisabeth’s nipples tightened like rosebuds. Death the back of her neck firmly and pushed the chemise off her shoulders. It slid over her hips and onto the floor like everything else. Starting below her navel, Death dragged a pointed tongue up the front of her body, over and around both her breasts, and then sank another bite into her neck. She tasted like the rosewater she wore to sleep, and the salt of tears and sweat. 

He reached under the silk and between her legs once more and found them slick with her arousal. Death picked his empress up, and she wrapped her legs around his person. He lifted her onto the casket. She shuddered again. There was only a slab of wood between his bride and the son he had taken from her. Death remembered the boy, his willingness and surrender, and felt himself getting hard. He was foreplay. The son she desperately anticipated so many years ago had been won to his side. This was to be a family affair. 

Death slid the last garment, the silk bloomers, down Elisabeth’s legs. He grabbed both her thighs and spread them apart. Death comforted the inside of her legs with circles of his hands, and found the last, most sensitive place to kiss her before he would touch her lips. He pressed his tongue deeply, firmly into her, soundlessly singing a funeral dirge into her sex. She tensed for a moment, and then left her legs to rest on Death’s shoulders. Death sucked harder and gripped the empress’s thighs in the same forceful manner by which he used to pull her by the wrist. She gave a girlish sigh. 

There had been much sorrow, and much more was to come. The Empress of Austria was already so spent, and she firmly believed Death would take what little was left that very night. It would be a consummation devoutly to be wished, Sisi thought, quoting Hamlet to herself. She tipped her head back, leaving her swan’s neck exposed to the vaulted ceiling, for God to see. In that moment, her Catholic faith was gone and there was no God but Death. She reached a delicate hand to her breast and began to roll her nipple between her nimble fingers and whimpered while Death flicked his tongue in and out of her.

Elisabeth began to shiver with pleasure. Death smiled into her, satisfied with his job. He pulled his face away, and slipped two fingers into the empress. His face was dewy and smug. He tapped the casket lid with his free hand, a hello to the boy he just had in a similar fashion. Rudolf was the final piece he had to take before the queen. Death stroked her insides. He curled his fingers like the claw of an eagle, to find the most sensitive spot that would make her blood rush. She at him with awe and terror and met his eyes for the first time since before he’d gone down on her. Elisabeth rocked with his touch, so he could reach deeper, harder inside of her. She placed her hands on his back and felt his shoulder blades and muscles move under the leather. Impulsively, she dug her nails into him in a gesture that was more forceful than she had been with anyone, but still insignificant over his clothes. Death laughed. She would have to try harder.

Then it started to happen. Death found the right rhythm, right positioning, right amount of pressure to push Elisabeth to the edge. Death wrapped his free hand around the small of her back, so she was firmly hitched on his hand and could not slip free. The crypt was no longer cold. The empress burned. Death felt her tighten around his fingers. Tears began to roll out of her eyes as fast and hot as he stroked her. They slipped down her now-angular cheek, jaw, and then her neck. Death lapped them up, savoring her sorrow and pleasure. 

“Rudolf was the same. He cried too.” Death whispered.

He bit down hard on her neck before Elisabeth could answer, and with it, she finally came. For a moment, she forgot her misery. She felt something she had never felt before, like the lightheadedness of fainting, but enjoyable. It was warm rather than the cold that trickled over her body before she would lose consciousness.

Death leaned in close to her lips, to ask her if she was finally ready. Sisi pulled back and fluttered her hand to the front of his trousers. She felt something hard and blushed, and jerked her hand away on reflex. Evidently, she was not ready. She still wanted more. Death put his strong hand over her dainty one and held it over his erection. He sensed her resistance and gripped down on her little wrist in the way that was familiar to her. She understood and stroked him with her fingers. Death took her jaw in his hand

Elisabeth descended from the coffin, trembling through the last ripples of her orgasm and fear. The feel of the stone floor on her bare knees startled her. She reached up the sides of his trousers, to the laces at the front and pulled them undone. She slowly pulled the trousers down his legs and was surprised to find he wore no underclothes. His erection was pointed at her face. Sisi parted her lips to take him in her mouth, but Death stopped her and lifted her face to his with a hand that hovered under her jaw. That’s not what he wanted. It would have to be something else.

Holding the very top of her thigh, he lifted her up again so her legs were wrapped around his torso. She clinged to the back of his neck and refused to break eye contact. Death’s confident, long strides alarmed Elisabeth. She felt herself moving backwards too fast. Death held her tighter to assure she would not fall. 

They made it to the wall, and Death pinned the empress to it, like a butterfly in a frame. The crypt was no longer a resting place, but a killing jar. Her hair provided a bit of protection from the stone, but not much. Sisi turned rested her flushed cheek on the cold stone for a second. It felt good. Death spread her legs again and ran a hand over her folds to be sure Elisabeth was still wet. She was. He lowered her onto his shaft. A look of both fear and wanting fell over her face.

It had been years since she was made to do this, and perhaps the first time she actually wanted it. Elisabeth never found a way to be fond of penetration. But she thought it not really penetration, as Death had been inside her always, at all times, since she could remember. This is how it was meant to be. Death wrapped his hands around her waist and began to buck her against the wall. 

This only ever happens in a bed, Elisabeth thought, and it is never this enjoyable. She was almost ashamed to enjoy being treated this way. Elisabeth assured herself it was okay. It did not hurt, but she was not used to feeling this occupied. He thrusted deeper into her and she moaned most ungracefully. There was no non-trite way to describe how she felt. All her poetry was nothing. There was nothing but Death.

Death’s strength was limitless, and through his passion he almost forgot Elisabeth had mortal limits. She balanced riding him and the unmoving hardness of the wall, but found he moved his cock in and out of her with a frightening intensity she could not keep up with. She was afraid she would slip from his grip, fall to the floor, and shatter like a porcelain doll. She would not. 

Pressed together, Death’s clothes were rough against Elisabeth’s skin, but she did not mind. Only Death could be this way with her. She began to cry softly and without tears. All of Death’s strength was pressed into the empress. He took her arms and spread them apart like a butterfly’s wings and pinned them to the wall by the wrists, crucifying her with three nails—his two hands and his cock. Death grit his teeth, himself close to coming. Their courtship lasted all of the empress’s adult life—a life she had spent wanting to die, but never had the courage to agree to. All her children, the archduchesses Sophie, Gisela, Marie, and Prince Rudolf especially, belonged to Death. She and the children were merely a loan to the emperor. Death had already come to take two of them back, and Elisabeth would be the third.

Death willed her to look him straight on. There was no parasol, fan, or veil to shield Sisi’s face. Her sorrow was on display. It had been years since Elisabeth had permitted any portraits or photos, in order only be remembered as what she considered the height of her beauty. Death would disagree. She was most beautiful when she was most willing to submit to her despair, her misery, her loneliness, her sorrow, and then finally submit to Death. Only Death could love her suffering.

Elisabeth began to ache in a way she found most desirable. She gripped him harder with her legs and arched her back so he could be as deep inside her as she could take. Death released one of her wrists so he could seize her by the neck. He clasped down with his hand and Sisi writhed under his grip. She was unable to control herself any longer. Her breath rattled with the beginnings of a shriek. Death released her neck so she could freely cry out, pushed her higher up on the wall and thrust. That had pushed the empress over the edge. She looked to the vaulted ceiling, thinking of nothing but Death inside her, eyes full of tears again, and came harder than she had the first time. Her last high moan was the song of a swan’s final lament, the one it was said to cry out in the very moment before dying. 

It was not the pleasures of the flesh that truly aroused Death, but the victory of undoing his empress so much that she sang to him. Only then, after she had given him everything, would he finally reach his climax. Death kissed Elisabeth’s flushed cheek, then down her neck and stayed there as he came in her. She cringed on instinct, but then eased into and enjoyed the feeling of Death ejaculating inside her as if she were his wife. Death was the only one she could tolerate it from. It was oddly human, the way he filled her with his seed. She almost wanted to laugh, but laughter was something forgotten to her. She rode out the last waves of both their orgasms slowly and languidly.

Death carried the empress cradled in his arms, over to the coffin. Elisabeth wished he would just continue to hold her. She could ask that of him, she could ask for a kiss that would make this permanent. Despite her wanting, she was afraid. To actually die was so final. Elisabeth spent a lifetime wishing for it. She still had an underlying fear that what waited for her beyond the grave could be worse than earthly suffering. She doubted it, rather thought it would be a blank, uneventful, pleasant, permanent sleep, but Elisabeth could not bring herself to say yes just yet.

He laid her down on the casket, and Elisabeth instantly remembered where her son was. Ashamedly, she had forgotten about Rudolf in the past moments. He had been her every thought until just then, when she could only think of Death. She closed her eyes a brief moment and held her hand where Death had just been, and felt the very real, very human results of their lust between her legs. When her eyes fluttered open again, she was alone. There was no evidence anyone else had been in the crypt with her. Elisabeth was naked, atop her son’s casket, her clothes strewn around the floor, angry at herself for not demanding he kiss her and take her away from life altogether.


End file.
